The Phantom of Nibleheim
by Sharakael
Summary: Very, very, very loosely based off Phantom of The Opera. Verily so. Please ignore the fact that everyone is OOC because this thing is just meant to be a crack fic. Please also ignore that some people who should had died are still alive...


Title: The Phantom of Nibleheim  
Fandom: FFVII  
Pairing: VincentxRufus (or possibly RufusxVincent?)  
Dislaimer: All characters belong to Squaresoft. I gain no financial profit from writing this (did get some laughter though).

**Chapter 0: Prologue**

The sound of a chandelier crashing to the floor might be loud, but it was nothing like the scream that followed after. The sound of a crashing chandelier was crisp and sharp, and the sound echoed a bit in your head before fading quietly. The scream that followed after, though... that was an entirely different story. It was a sound that threatened to puncture your eardrums, worse than a toddler who wanted a jar of candies whose mommy wouldn't buy for him. ...well, only a little bit worse than that.

"Again!" screamed the diva at the top of her lungs. The chandelier had fallen a few metres away from her feet, a repeat of what happened yesterday. Christina turned around to face her manager, a paper-thin man who had turned pale before she even looked at him. "I've had enough of this!" Taking off her shawl, she threw it to the air in true theatrical style before striding to the exit, and her manager deftly caught it as if he had been rehearsing for it his whole life.

"But Christina," he pleaded, "tomorrow's the opening night. Just one more day!" He scurried after her, waving the shawl like a white flag.

"And who can tell what would happen in one day?!" She turned around to face him --and by extension the rest of the opera cast-- "I still value my life, and besides, this place creeps me out!" And with that she stormed off the building, her manager running behind her like a lost puppy.

The silence that followed after was short-lived, as the manager of the theatre immediately resumed control as if what had just happened was simply part of a show. "So," Simon said, "I guess that's that. Thankfully we do have a replacement lined up."

The rest of the cast murmured among themselves. They knew there was a replacement; it was rather difficult to not notice when the said "replacement" and her manager had been coming to the theatre everyday to convince Simon that she should be the star instead of Christina.

Simon rubbed his temples. He had quit smoking a year ago, but now the urge to pick up smoking again was getting unbearable, much like the urge to set the diva on fire whenever she was having one of her tantrums. And why was it that at a time like this he remembered that letter? Simon had found the letter on his desk in his office one morning, a one-page letter inside a plain white envelope with only "Mr. Green" written on it. He was sure the letter had not been there the night before, and he was the only one who had the key to his office. He had anxiously opened the letter only to find a very polite letter asking him to not use Christina for the show and to use the replacement instead. He found the cursive handwriting to be elegant, small letters slightly slanted to the right, and believed that the letter had not been produced by either the replacement singer or her manager (their handwriting was the equivalent of breakdancing worms). The letter had been signed "Galian", and Simon did not know anyone who went by the name or alias like such. All of the subsequent letters had been signed similarly.

Come to think of it, the first letter showed up exactly a week before the first incident started... Simon wondered if they were related in any way. _Nonsense_, he thought to himself. And he could not spare any time for such nonsense. God knew the opera's owner was a man not to be crossed, and Simon was determined to see that the opera would be running smoothly on the opening night, even if he had to crawl on broken glass to achieve it. Because the other alternative was not as pleasant.

He could hear the cast gossiping now, and most of them voicing the same suspicion he had just had. After all they were aware of the letters as well... in the beginning it had been dismissable, but someone had found out about the letters and the rumours had started from there. "Quiet," Simon said, "if you're all talking about the bet, do it elsewhere. And someone better pay me my $50 winning or I'll sack everyone who put money in the bet." Stepping away from the cast (who had now upgraded from "murmuring" into "chattering") Simon walked to a secluded spot and took out his mobile phone. Good thing he still had at least bothered to save the replacement's number. The first rang had not even ended when the call was picked up, and an excited male voice eagerly said hello. "Hi, this is Simon Green, about the singer you brought to me the other day..."

---

In the shadows of the balcony, an observer nodded. While the method had not been pretty, the result had spoken for itself. Everything was as planned, and the observer felt a slight satisfaction. There should be no more hindrance to the plan now, and the 'replacement singer' would soon be on the stage singing as the new diva. All the letters the observer had sent... from the start the observer had not expected the letters to have any effect, which necessitated the "incidents".

The observer's only worry, then, would be the theatre's owner. If the owner stepped into the affair and reinstated Christina as the main singer... no one would dare to go against the owner, considering who the owner was. At that point, the observer thought, it would be time for a different, drastic measure...

---


End file.
